


Christmas 1998

by jalendavi_lady



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Post - Deathly Hallows, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-07
Updated: 2010-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-13 06:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jalendavi_lady/pseuds/jalendavi_lady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George Weasley arranges Christmas for one of the Wizarding Wheezes employees so that she can have at least one bright moment in her year. He doesn't know she has a connection to one of Ron's friends, or that she has a present of her own to give.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas 1998

“I need help arranging a Christmas.”

George's words came out of nowhere in the Gryffindor guest box. It was the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff game, and a handful of friends and family had all decided to make sure Ginny had a cheering section for her last year at Hogwarts, despite George's work to reopen Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes and the rest of those present being seventh- and eighth-years under the temporary Hogwarts Recovery Policy. They had decided to take places with George in the guest box so she would know where they were, and the events of the war had certainly given them standing for the seats.

The Snitch flew by them and stopped for a moment, buzzing in Harry's ear.

Hermione laughed as it flew off again, Ginny quickly in pursuit. “So now they like you.”

“What was that about Christmas?” Harry asked. It was about a week before Halloween.

“One of my employees. She's been mostly in hiding for years, among Muggles. And she's a pureblood. Pureblood Slytherin.”

Hermione gave a little gasp, while Ron asked, “What does her bloodstatus or her house have to do with anything?”

“Ron, think about it,” Hermione hissed. “She's in an entirely different world than the one she was raised to live in.”

“Exiled by the war?” Harry asked.

George nodded, hair sliding noticeably over the side of his face. “She'd married a Muggle, and when things got bad in the late seventies she simply cut her ties to our world. Now she's just an elderly widowed witch, living alone. Does potion work for hire.”

Silence on their row as the rest of the box exploded in cheering for a particularly skillful Gryffindor save. They all turned to stare at George as those around them continued cheering.

It hadn't even been six months since the monument to the war dead had been erected in the grassy space beside the big windows of the Great Hall, since the ground beside the lake had begun sporting the final resting places of two Hogwarts headmasters.

“A proper Wizarding Halloween is out of the question, she does too much in the Muggle community that night, but a Wizarding Christmas... even if all we do is surprise her with food she didn't have to cook...” His voice trailed off as they all watched the current Gryffindor beaters knock an off-course Bludger away from their box and then give George a rough salute before flying off.

Harry waited a moment until George seemed to regain his composure. “And you're sure it's her?”

“Absolutely. No doubt. It's her.” There was something in George's voice Harry didn't wish to inquire about.

Neville poked George in the back. “No chance you're wrong?”

“Longbottom, she doesn't get The Daily Prophet delivered. Which means we were handing her our old ones whenever we picked orders up. Neither of us said anything direct, but she knows I know. After the war...” He shook his head sorrowfully.

Luna gasped. She'd become so folded into their group of friends, and been so integral during the battle, that there was no way she wasn't sitting in the box with them. At least they weren't playing Ravenclaw. The lion hat she was wearing fell onto Harry and started roaring. She grabbed it and silenced it with a touch of her wand. “Sorry, Harry.”

Wild cheering as Ginny raced through the sky, dove, and then took a victory lap with her hand held aloft. Everyone cheered.

According to Harry's count, Gryffindor was right behind Slytherin now in the running for the Quidditch Cup. There were rumors, vague ones, that the Quidditch and House Cups might get thrown to Slytherin. Not by a wide margin, and they would have to work for them. He supposed it had started with another rumor that the Slytherins were determined to win at least one of the Cups in the headmaster's memory.

“So, what can a bunch of students stuck on the grounds do to help make this Christmas plan happen?” he asked.

...

He sat on his bed in the Gryffindor dormitory later, looking over a book Slughorn had loaned him on medical potions. He was going to need a NEWT in Potions to begin Auror training-the events of the past year certainly hadn't offered anything of a field test that could replace a Potions NEWT-and he was going to need to master basic medical potions sooner or later anyway.

He glanced out of the window at the grounds and could barely see the glint off of the marble beside the lake.

Hermione had been right. He should have paid attention in class from the beginning, adversarial professor or not. Things might have been different...

Who was he trying to kid? Any connection on his side would have been destroyed when he learned who had overheard Trelawney, and the closer he had been to Snape the worse it would have been.

The less he would have listened to the revelations in a bottle, when he most needed to, and the less likely Snape would have been able to provide them.

No, in the final accounting all had probably come out as well as it could have. Probably. And Harry would never know for sure, and Snape had never known Harry was going to survive.

He often wondered these days if Snape was through screaming at Dumbledore in the afterlife yet.

Almost Halloween. Something always happened on Halloween. Maybe it had just been bad luck to have the two of them under the same roof on Halloween. Enough had happened for Harry to hope nothing more than a feast would happen.

And a Saturday trip to Hogsmeade, which also meant permission to Apparate to and from Diagon Alley for the adult students.

They had all claimed responsibility for one aspect of the Christmas surprise, with George claiming the task of talking Molly Weasley out of leftovers. Hermione was lucky; hers could keep until the holiday began. Ginny was going to be searching through the Hogsmeade clothing stores with Luna covering the clothing stores of Diagon Alley. Neville was going to look in Flourish and Botts for professional journals she might be interested in. Ron was going to get a basket together of Wizarding sweets—and they had already told him to make sure there was not a single Chocolate Frog in the lot.

Harry, meanwhile, had gotten stuck with “just go find something.” For an elderly witch he knew next to nothing about, and gobstones was not a lifetime sport the way Quidditch could be. Just something.

Even from what he knew about her, the unacceptable list was longer than the acceptable list. And the one certain shopping day he had before the winter rush began was Halloween itself, the day he was certain The Boy Who Lived would attract crowds no matter what he did to keep himself out of notice.

Just what did you get the widowed mother of the professor who'd saved your life on multiple occasions and got no thanks in life for it, anyway? Kitchen towels and potholders? A bag of Every Flavor Beans? Fuzzy pink Muggle earmuffs? A new wireless set? A Daily Prophet subscription to an address he did not know and that she had already chosen to not have a paper delivered to?

There wasn't anything valuable enough, profound enough.

He had no clue what professional items she used or already owned. Neville's journal search was going to work because they already knew she didn't subscribe to anything. Recently published books might be acceptable, but there was no telling if the information inside would duplicate something she had and the previous school year had resulted in some particularly nasty tomes.

He was just going to have to find something, anything.

Ginny poked her head in the door. “The party's still going on down in the courtyard, if you feel like joining in. Bit crowded because of the first-years.”

The after-match party structure had needed modification to accommodate the increased number of students. Hours after the Snitch was caught did not seem like the proper time for the celebration, but the courtyard's space was needed so there was room for the first-years and the tradition of the courtyard as a haven for those who didn't want to watch the match wasn't something anyone wanted to change.

“I think I had enough celebrating right after the match. That was an exceptional catch you made.”

She walked in the door, slyly smiling. “Now, are you saying that because you really think that, or because of that book Ron gave you last year? Don't think Hermione and I haven't figured you two out.”

He smiled back, weakly. “Ginny, the Harpies are asking about your plans after Hogwarts, and you think I'm complimenting your abilities as a Quidditch player just because you're my girlfriend?”

One quick kiss. “I can't stay away from the party for long, Harry. Seeker's got to be there. You understand.”

Of course he understood. No matter how the rest of the game went, the focus of a win was always on the Seeker.

She looked out the window, and she seemed to somehow know what he had been doing. “Harry, you... he knew the risks he was taking. He kept the rest of us as safe as he could.”

“What am I supposed to be able to give her?” he whispered.

Ginny didn't say anything for a moment, then sat beside him. “I think she'd accept just about anything from you, honestly.”

“Like 'just about anything' would really be acceptable. It's not the money, it's the everything else.”

“I know. Just don't try to use this to fix every dispute the Potter family ever had with Professor Snape. And well, from what you told us after everything...”

“What?”

“I think maybe your mum attached to her the way you've done to Mum. Maybe you even being there will be something special for her.”

“How do you figure that?”

“It just fits somehow, even with what Professor Slughorn was saying two years ago.” She kissed his cheek, then stood. “I need to get back to the party. If you want to go looking with me in Hogsmeade, I won't complain.”

He nodded.

...

“Would you please remind me why I agreed to this?”

He was sitting beside a pile of packages as Ginny rummaged through a pile of witch's fashion accessories. He'd gotten most of his Christmas gifts purchased, but nothing had shown itself as a reasonable choice for his part in George's plan.

“Because you in Diagon Alley on Halloween is a bad combination. And because I can't seem to find anything for her either. I need something she can wear in front of Muggles. Luna's probably having better luck.”

“It's not like the witches in Hogsmeade have to blend in with Muggles.”

“No, they don't. Ooh! George did say she was Sorted Slytherin, or am I misremembering?”

“She's Slytherin.”

Ginny held up a small brooch. It looked like malachite rather than emerald, but the silver surrounding the stone made the pattern of streaks look much like the silver-gray stripes on Slytherin uniforms.

“Maybe I could find a shawl or cloak to go with that.”

Ginny seemed to think for a moment. “Shawl. Miller says working with large cauldrons only keeps your legs warm.”

“Miller?”

“Shanon Miller. She's a Slytherin, my year. Pet student since she walked into Potions our first day.”

“Let's see if we can find a green or gray shawl without any fringe bits on it. Nothing that would dangle into a cauldron.”

“I think I might have seen something like that in a window down the street. I'll get this for her, and then we'll go look there.”

...

They all Apparated outside the village after napping off part of the sleepiness induced by Molly Weasley's turkey. Harry additionally had needed to sleep off the last bit of tiredness from the Christmas Eve morning he'd spent with the Lupins. Remus and Nymphadora had barely made it through the battle, and to hear Lupin tell the tale was a lesson in “how I survived by the hairs of my chiny-chin-chin” and a demonstration of Nymphadora listing off all the Muggle stories Lupin had gotten from Lily as a child and from his father-in-law as an adult that he was not to ever, ever, personally tell to Teddy. She apparently had objections to the mostly-friendly werewolf telling stories about The Big Bad Wolf.

Harry personally thought it might have something to do with the makeshift howling that had accompanied the stories.

Molly had thought it was incredibly sweet for them to be bringing a little cheer to one of George's employees, at least once they'd explained she was an elderly witch with no family to celebrate with and who rarely got out among her fellow magical folk.

They hadn't mentioned why she had no family to celebrate with, of course. If she wanted to stay quietly hidden, that was more than her right.

It was a still evening, with snow on the ground. Under their coats they were wearing this year's Weasley sweater, with the exception of Neville and Luna who had opted for house colors. The sun was mostly set as they headed down the road into the little village.

“Ms. P lives in that first two-story cottage on the edge of town,” George told them.

Ms. P. That was the name she went by when she needed to do anything in the Wizarding world. Ms. P.

Harry shifted the package in his arms. The long cloak and hat he and Ginny had finally found had seemed nearly perfect at the time, but that didn't stop the nervousness. They didn't even really know if she was going to let them inside the house, after all.

“I'll go on ahead and see if she feels like dealing with anyone today.” George walked faster. He knocked on the door of the little home and waited a moment. “Ms. P, it's me, Mr. Weasley.”

Harry saw the door open just a bit, but he couldn't see anything inside.

After a few seconds, George turned slightly towards them and beckoned.

They followed him through the door and into an entry hallway that led towards the back of the house. Harry let himself drift towards the back of the group and made sure the door had shut.

It looked like a Muggle home. There was one door off the hallway into a sort of sitting room that looked barely used. On the floor beside a chair was a basket of yarn balls with a few pairs of knitting needles poking out.

“Pardon the mess, I've been puttering about upstairs all day. I'd have cleaned up a bit if someone had told me he was coming with friends.”

Her voice was slightly gruff, just enough to have an edge. She sounded weary, but then that was to be more than expected.

The hallway let out into a kitchen facing the yard behind the house. A few pots, pans, and plates that looked to have had reparo cast on them one too many times were in a draining rack beside the little sink. A few of the plates still had chipped places. There was a table with three battered-looking chairs.

They quietly arranged themselves around the room. Harry ended up a bit behind Ginny in a corner.

He finally got a good look at her.

Her face was somewhat familiar from Hermione's search through The Daily Prophet back issues and from the pensieve. Her skin was still pale, but it seemed a healthier sort of pale in person. Once-black hair was now mostly gray with black strands and trailed down her back in a braid that curled as if it had only recently been uncoiled from a bun. She was slender. She wore a stained blue shirt and a skirt that trailed the floor and seemed to be nearly more patch than original cloth. The apron over them was gray from use and washing.

“Mr. Weasley, who is it that you have invited into my home?”

“Just a few friends who wanted to help me give you a Christmas, Ms. P. Here, I got leftovers from Mum.” He handed over the picnic basket he was carrying, “I figured it's hard to cook a Christmas dinner for one, so...”

Her face seemed to soften. “You're all just here because of me?”

Hermione spoke up. “Yes. George told us he knew a widow still in hiding and...”

Luna quietly broke in. “Everyone else got to go home.”

She closed her eyes. “You told them.”

“Vaguely. I think it was the mention of when you went into hiding and the potion work that did it.”

“George!”

“We didn't tell anyone else, Ma'am.” Neville stepped forward. “It's just us.”

“Mum just thinks we're off making sure one of our elders is actually having a Christmas,” Ginny offered.

“She was happy we were thinking of someone else this year.” Ron was looking down at his feet.

A little bit of silence.

“We couldn't just do nothing.”

Almost immediately, her eyes darted to meet Harry's. After a moment, she took a few steps forward and spoke in a voice that was nearly a whisper, “You're our Lily's boy.”

Our Lily.

He nodded as something seemed to well up inside.

She gave him a firm smile before pulling a long stirring rod out of a deep pocket on her apron and using it to point at Ron and Ginny. “I suppose these are two more of you mother's brood, George?”

“Ronald and Ginevra. The runts.”

She looked over at Ron. “You're a little bit tall for a runt.”

They all laughed. Eileen was having to crane her head up to look him in the face.

“You can just call me Ron.”

“And I go by Ginny.”

“And the rest of you are?”

“Neville Longbottom.”

“Luna. Luna Lovegood.”

“Hermione Granger.”

“Related to Hector Dag...”

“No, I'm Muggleborn.”

“Brightest witch in her year,” Luna piped up.

“Never said she couldn't be. I was just a bit curious.” She turned to Harry again. “And you I know about, Mr. Potter.”

“Just Harry. Please just Harry.”

“Of course.” She smiled at him and he felt the same welling feeling inside.

She had known his mum before everything had happened, before she had joined the war against Voldemort. When she was just a young Muggleborn witch and nothing more.

“We didn't just bring you supper,” Ginny said, and Harry could tell she was trying to create a distraction for a moment.

“Oh! I get presents too?”

Harry laughed. “Yes, presents.”

Luna held her gift out. “Here!”

There was shortly a pile of carefully folded wrapping paper on the table beside a growing pile of gifts. Several potions journals from Neville, a pendant necklace from Luna that seemed to relate to a superstition about potion-making and that Eileen had gratefully accepted, a pile of varied Wizarding candy from Honeydukes courtesy of Ron that did thankfully not include a single Chocolate Frog...

Hermione handed the elderly witch a boxy package with plain wrapping on it.

“Heavy enough for books.”

Hermione blushed as everyone laughed.

Eileen squealed, if it was possible for a gray-haired witch who had seen too much of life to squeal, as she opened the box inside the paper. “Draughts of Difference is publishing!?”

“Just started back a few months ago.”

Harry glanced at Hermione, confused.

“Cauldron romances, Harry. The Wizarding equivalent of cheap paperback Muggle romance novellas.” Hermione grinned. “And Draughts of Difference is a publishing group specializing in things that would give Umbridge a fatal case of the vapors.”

“Horribly trashy romances that do not respect certain attitudes about blood and status, to be precise.” Eileen hugged the box.

“That's every title that had come out from when the presses were restarted to a few days ago.” Hermione paused for a few seconds. “The bookseller seemed to not believe me when I said they were for a friend.”

Eileen started howling with laughter.

“It looks like they're focusing on witches who like Muggleborn and Muggle men right now as a buying demographic.”

“Wonderful.” She gave the box a final squeeze and put it on the table. She wiped tears out of her eyes for a moment. “Been a while since I had those from happiness. Thank you.”

“Here.” Ginny handed her the tiny wrapped box.

Rustling of the paper. “Oh, lovely.” She held the brooch in her hand, admiring it. “I haven't had anything this nice in years.”

“This goes with it, somewhat.” He handed her the large package he'd been carrying under his arm. “And well... um...”

“Back Christmases included?”

“Erm.”

“Harry, you don't owe me anything.”

“Why would he have any reason to think he did?” George stared at Harry.

“Muggleborns have a way of adopting themselves into Wizarding families over time. Gives them a place to learn all the things that even Hogwarts can't teach them about being witches and wizards. I just happened to be the only adult witch or wizard within fifteen minutes' broom flight at a sane speed from Lily Evans' home when she was growing up.” She weighed the package in her hands. “Well, I can tell it's not more books.”

Harry grinned.

He became aware a moment later that everyone but Ginny and Hermione was looking at him and Eileen, eyes scanning between them.

She folded back the paper and gasped. “Harry, no. Absolutely no. I can't accept this.”

“What is it?” Luna asked.

Eileen gently pulled out a proper witch's hat, folded flat but plumped out to proper shape and set on the table a moment later. It was a deep dark green and a matching witch's cape was pulled out a moment later.

“Harry, where in the world do you think I'll have reason to wear this?”

“I've seen Muggles wearing that style of cape around London,” Hermione offered. “It's not a traditional style among Muggles, but it does seem to be catching on.”

“And if you ever do have a reason or a desire to walk around among witches and wizards again, you'll have a hat to do so in.”

...

It was an hour at the least before she finally shooed them outside and home.

Eileen held Harry back for a moment. “There's something I need to give you. Wait here for a moment.”

She walked into the sitting room and pulled a small flat box from a shelf.

“I've been meaning to give you this, if I ever managed to meet you. Don't open until you get back to the school and are relatively alone.” She carefully pressed the box into his hands.

“What...?”

“You'll find out what it is when you open it. Not before, Harry.”

“Thank you...”

“Just call me Ms. P. I'm Ms. Prinz to the neighborhood Muggles, but it's best if that name stays as secret as it can. I'm still trying to keep a low profile, and it's probably best if my name doesn't get spoken too loudly.”

“Okay, Ms. P.”

He suddenly found himself pulled close in an embrace. “She would have been so very proud of you, Harry.”

He teared up for a small moment, memories of that night so long ago and yet so recent washing over him.

She pushed him out to arms' length then. “Now, any time you need to come here, you come. Understand?”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

She herded him towards the door and outside where the others stood waiting in the moonlight, ready to trudge back out of sight and Disaparate to the Burrow and their homes beyond.

...

It was morning at the Burrow and the sky was still dark outside.

Harry sat alone in the stillness of the Weasley family sitting room, staring at the tiny flat box in his hands. The mokeskin pouch Hagrid had given him lay beside him on the couch, the weight of the old snitch and the small flask inside pressing against his leg.

He had a feeling the box would be joining them there shortly.

He carefully lifted the lid and saw the miniaturized book inside, a round circle the only marking on its front cover. There was a tiny clasp he could barely see the details of holding the front and back covers together on the edge furthest from the spine.

Miniaturized in the Wizarding world usually meant literally miniaturized.

He pulled out his wand and tapped the circle once.

The book expanded, straining against the box until he thought to tip it out onto his lap.

Harry gently undid the clasp and opened it to the first page. A note fell out that simply stated in elegant even handwriting that reminded Harry vaguely of that which had come from Tom Riddle's diary, “These are copies, not originals.”

Two children were looking up at him from the page, happily waving wands while two exasperated-looking women smiled weakly at them. The familiar front of the wand shop in Diagon Alley rose behind them.

“A pureblood, a halfblood, a Muggleborn, and a Muggle all walked into Olivanders. 25 August 1971.”

He smiled, even as a fresh wave of grief hit him. Of course Eileen Snape would have the photographs from Lily Evans Potter's childhood that Hagrid's search first year had not provided.

He flipped through it. There were posed shots of Hogwarts uniforms. A few informal shots taken in what looked like Eileen' workroom, huge cauldrons steaming and two children peering over the edges at the potions within.

 _No wonder Professor Slughorn thought Mum was so good at Potions._

There was even one picture taken in the middle of a practice duel with a large-framed man laughing as he sat in an armchair, golden-brown hair thrown back with finger-tracks through it.

Harry stared at it for a moment and suddenly understood that this was the Muggle man Eileen had willingly given up her family ties for, the man a boy of ten years had thought didn't like anything.

Tobias.

The next photograph after it was of Lily, Eileen, Mrs. Evans, and Professor Snape standing together. He was looking away from everyone else, and Harry thought he was silently crying. Lily was looking at him with worry radiating from her. Eileen was crying into Mrs. Evans's shoulder.

It finally struck Harry just how intertwined the two families had become over time.

The next page was filled with a newspaper clipping from a Muggle paper about an industrial accident at a textile mill. For a moment Harry wondered why she had felt the need to include it.

> Mr. Tobias Snape of Spinner's End reentered the building and was caught in the final explosion as he was directing others to a safe route out. He died shortly afterwards of his wounds, having aided over forty workers to safety.
> 
> Thanks to his selfless courage and bravery, there were no other fatalities.

  
Harry sat in mostly stunned silence.

It was not the first time he had come to very much wonder just how Severus Snape had ever become a Death Eater.

He flipped through the rest, knowing he could go back through at leisure later on.

The last photograph in the album was of Lily sitting in Tobias's chair with Eileen standing beside it, squeeze bulb in her hand with the line clearly running to the camera that had taken the photograph. They were both smiling, alone together in the Snape family home, and Lily was...

Harry found himself reverently almost touching the picture and almost afraid to do so should it prove to not be really there at all.

Lily looked to be quite pregnant indeed. There had been pictures in Hagrid's album of he and his parents together after he had been born, but nothing like this.

There was a date below it from June 1980, and the words “The day I ran, three days before Lily and James took to hiding.”

It was the second time in a year that Harry had felt like something large and angry had kicked him in the chest, and this time it hadn't even taken the Killing Curse.

Severus Snape had been desperately trying to plan out Lily's survival even as Eileen and Lily had been enjoying their last time together. If Voldemort had come to Spinner's End at that moment, Harry might have never been born.

And Eileen didn't know.

There was scraping in the kitchen and the sound of breaking eggs over a hummed refrain by Celestina Warbeck.

Harry closed the album after tucking the note back inside, redid the clasp, and tapped the circle again with his wand. Once it had shrunk again, he placed it in its box and tucked the box into the mokeskin pouch.

He slung the pouch back around his neck, tucking it under his pajamas shirt.

He walked towards the kitchen and his own mother-surrogate, fully intent on helping her with the bacon. After all, he had years of experience with it and, unlike Aunt Petunia, Molly Weasley was sure to let him have some of it when he was done.


End file.
